PS 3545 
.H76 V4 
1902 

Copy 1 mixmmummmmmi 



IT 






"»' VERSIONS I 

I & in 

VERSES I 

SONNETS i 

AFTER THE « 

ITALIAN 

AND OTHER « 

SONNETS j|" 

BY FREDERIC WHITMORE ^. 

TRANSLATOR OF THE T^l 

AMYNTAS OF TASSO tf4^!l 

Illustrated by ^| 

WILLIAM R. WHITMORE Vi 




Versions 
Verses 



To E. E. W. 



*^«wr^ 



|g[ VERSIONS 
VERSES 

SONNETS 
AFTER THE 

ITALIAN 
AND OTHER 

SONNETS 

BY FREDERIC WHITMORE 

TRANSLATOR OF THE 

AMYNTASOFTASSO 

Illustrated by 

WILLIAM R. WHITMORE 



THE RIDGEWOOD PRESS 
Springfield Mass. 



THF LIBRAftV OF 
COKGR€S9, 

DEC. U T902 

PL*!V» O^XXr Mo, 

oopy B. 






Copyright, 1902 
by Frederic Whitmore 

All rights reserved 



Versions 



Sweet Bird . . . 

SWEET bird that, hovering, sccmcst to 
make moan 
For days forcdonc and ail their blisses 

past, 
Seeing thy season waned, and skies o'er- 

cast. 
And winter nigh — I would my grief were 

known 
To thee, as to thy throbbing breast thine 

own! 
Then wouldst thou stoop and, nestling, 

find at last 
A solace in my bosom. There held fast. 
Thou shouldst with me bewail the summers 

flown. 
I know not if thy case be all as mine; 
Haply thy Love yet livcth; mine from me 
Death sunders, and my yearning hope 

delays. 
Yet would i, in my loneliness, with thine 
Mingle my low lament: akin are we, 
Whose hearts ache still for unreturning days. 

— Petrarch 



Angels Elect . . . 

ANGELS elect and spirits benedight, 
Heaven's citizens, the day my lady 

died, 
Drew round her, full of ruth and tender* 

eyed, 
Much marvelling to see so fair a sight 
"What loveliness is this, what rarer 

light?" 
They whispered: "Ne'er soul's beauteous 

vesture vied 
With this; for ages, none so sanctified 
Hath hither soared from earth's dim wan- 
dering night!" 
She, in her soul's new hostelry content, 
Shines equal with the brightest dwellers 

there. 
Yet oft she turns and down the steep 

ascent 
Long gazes, with a soft and wistful air. 
Whence heavenward all my yearning 

thoughts are bent — 
I hear her sigh, and hasten me with prayer. 

— Petrarch 



Death Cannot . • . 

DEATH cannot her dear face unlovely 
make; 
But her dear face hath power to sweeten 

death. 
What other ^uidc in dyin^ need I take ? 
She ^uideth me who all ^ood minist'reth. 
And he who gave his blood unniggard- 

And with his foot the gates of Tartarus 
broke, 

Seems with his death to strengthen mc 
to die. 

Then come, Death ! — thy coming I in- 
voke. 

linger not! for now the time is full; 

And were it not, that moment was most 
fit 

When from this life my lady passed away. 

Since then I scarce have lived e'en one 
poor day: 

With her in life, with her I ended it; 

Her footsteps told the measure of the 

whole. n i u 

— Petrarch 



s 



To a Scholar 

LOTH, gluttony, and downy pampered 

ease 
Have driven ail worth and virtuous strength 

away. 
Whence our weak nature, well-nigh gone 

astray. 
Sinks 'neath the weight of evil usances; 
And, since Heaven's inner light, obscured 

with these. 
No longer yields its pure ethereal ray, 
Marvels to men and prodigies arc they 
Who seek bright streams on Heliconian leas. 
By whom are laurels, whom are myrtles 

wooed ? 
"Nude far'st thou forth. Philosophy, and 

poor!" 
Murmurs the dull pelf -ridden multitude. 
Few comrades wilt thou find! So much 

the more, 
I prithee, spirit with generous thoughts 

imbued, 
Slack not thy toil, nor the high quest 

Jive o'er! _Petrarch 



The Only Way 

GERI, whcnas my gentle foe with 
mc 
Is waxen wroth — who then is proud 

and chill — 
One hope have I, one lingering solace still, 
Whereby I breathe — and this 1 tell to 

thee. 
What time she lifts her lids, then seeth she. 
Who fain would chasten mine and scourge 

my will. 
Then seeth she mine eyes that meekly 

fill. 
Subduing hers, with mute humility. — 
Saving for this, not elsewise should I draw 
Anigh her, wroth, than whoso stricken 

sees 
Medusa's face that freezeth him to stone. 
So with thy dame do thou: for by 

Love's law. 
Whose swift wing shadows even him who 

flees, 
No shift avails, no strife — but this alone! 

— Petrarch 



Guido, I Would . . . 

GUI DO, 1 would that thou and Lapo 
and i 
By spells were borne to some charmed 

bark that still. 
'Mid shifting tides, might o'er the ocean 

ply 
Whither we would, obedient to our will, 
in such wise that nor wave nor wind's 

delay 
Should stay or thwart us with mischance 

of weather — 
But, favoring, waft, in one accord for aye, 
As still the longing grew to be together; 
And that your Vanna, and Monna Bice, 

as well. 
With her who shines the thirty fair above, 
The kindly mage might compass with 

his spell ! 
Would that with them we might discourse 

of love. 
Nor cease to charm, as ever we did dwell 
On themes I think our tongues would 

ever move! _Dante 



To Venice 



WHERE loom these walls and colon* 
nades that shine 
With purple and ^old and gleaming marbles 

rare, 
Once nestled lowly huts that, 'mid the 

brine, 
Scarce marked the sands and wave-beat 

islets bare. 
For fearless folk, a free untainted line, 
Here, in rude galleys, sous(ht a freeman's 

lair. 
Unlured they came by lust of base design : 
Not to enslave, but here to breathe the 

air 
Themselves unfettered, hardily they came; 
Strong and sincere, scorning the double 

tongue 
And the gold-lover's dull ignoble flame. 
Sons of sjuch sires, Venetians, ye have wrung 
Her costliest gifts from Fortune. See your 

fame 
Be e'en as theirs, as nobly nursed and sung I 

— Delia Casa 



To Vlttoria Colonna 

THAT I mi^ht less unworthy be to 
take 
The ^ift, great lady, of your courtesies. 
With some slight merit did 1 hope to 

make 
More fit my spirit, all too low for these. 
But, having proved that unto such a 

height 
My feeble strength may vainly seek to 

rise, 

The lofty aspiration failcth quite 

And, failing, maketh me at length more 

wise. 
Well see 1 how he erreth, who deems 

worth 
Those graces that from you divinely rain. 
My own poor works, ephemeral and 

frail. 
Mind, art, and hardihood before you 

fail: 
For not a thousand labors could attain 
To pay celestial gifts in terms of earth. 

— Michelangelo 



I 



I Only Write... 

I ONLY write to case that inner woe 
Whereon my heart feeds, craving 

naught beside; 
Not that my beauteous sun may brighter 

show, 
Who left in earth his members glorified. 
Just cause doth move me to bewail and 

weep; 
Alone it grieves me that I dim his fame. 
But other bards, with words more sage 

and deep, 
Shall come to win from Death his mighty 

name. 
Pure loyalty and sorrow all too strong 
My fond excuse shall be: such sorrow 

keen 
As neither time nor reason may restrain. 
Bitter lament and tears not dulcet 

song, 
Sad sighlngs and not melodies se- 
rene. 
Me vaunt, if not for verse, for woe shall gain. 

— Vittoria Colonna 



I Sec my Loved One 

BY deep and solemn contemplation 
brought, 
1 see my loved one often come anear. 
And, fair and living, rise before my 

thought. 
Such that mine eyes beheld him scarce 

so clear. 
To follow then the gentle beam divine 
That guides his feet, my ardent soul takes 

night. 
And on spread pinions scales Heaven's 

steep incline, 
Of every mortal care disburdened light; 
Where of his joys some portion i behold. 
And seem to hear the mystic words unite 
With heavenly notes that make one har- 
mony. — 
Ah! if my love, whose like earth ne*er 

did hold, 
But visioned, than the sun shines far more 

bright, 
How shall he shine, from earthly vesture free ! 

— Vittoria Colonna 



10 



To Italy 



WHERE is thy sword? What boots. 
Italy. 
A stranger's shield? Aught if the clear 

eye sees, 
Fell are thy friends as thy fierce enen^ies — 
Harsh tyrants both once both were 

slaves to thee! 
Thus, thus rul'st thou thy wreck of empery. 
And guard' st thy old renown on lands 

and seas? 
So pay'st thou Valor's vows? So dost 

thou ease 
Thy soul of bonds that thou did'st seal, 

and he? 
Nay, wanton, spurn thine old espousals, wed 
Thyself to Sloth ! 'Midst blood and sighs 

and tears. 
E'en on a couch of perils sink, and steep 
Thy lids in dreams, till the drawn blade 

that nears 
Flash in thy startled eyes, yet dim with sleep. 
And 'mid thy Love's embraces strike thee 

dead! —Filicaia 



Michelangelo's Moses 

WHAT Titan soul informs this massy 
stone, 
Outvying all that e'er the chisel wrought ? 
These marble lips, instinct with living 

thought, 
Deceive the ear, that dreams their pon- 
derous tone. 
'Tis Moses : him the two-fold beam makes 

known. 
And mane of hair with wreathing locks 

inwrought. 
*Tis he, as when his flaming forehead brought 
God's light from where mid Sinai's clouds 

it shone. 
Such was he when the sudden gushing wave 
Of waters streamed beneath his smiting rod. 
Such when he bade the sea be Pharaoh's 

grave. 
And ye, his hosts, upreared a golden god ? 
This had ye reared, ye might have thought 

to save 

Your shame, God's wrath — not kneeling 

to a clod ! 7 , .^ r^ : 

— £appi 



12 



Judith 



GRASPING her bloody trophy by the 
hair. 
Came Judith home. "Hail, hero!" maids 

and men 
Cried, rapturous, for no woman seemed 

she then, 
Save in the silken ^arb and visage fair. 
Hastened the virgins forth, to kiss her bare 
Brave feet, and, weeping, welcome her 

again. 
But none the dread hands dared to kiss, 

as when. 
Late sallying, she uplifted them in prayer. 
A hundred hymning prophets ringed her 

round : 
"Lo, thou shalt live, anthemed in every 

clime; 
Lo, thou shalt live, and thy great name 

resound!" 

She, strong to dare and win immortal fame. 

Stronger in triumph, modestly sublime. 

Scarce seemed to hear the thunderous wild 

acclaim. 7 , ,^ ,* : 

— ^a ppi 



13 



David and Goliath 

THRICE round his head the son of Jesse 
swung 
The whistling sling — and loosed the bolt. 

It flew 
Winged from his sinewy arm, and hurtling 

sung 
Bee-IIke upon the wind: Goliath knew 
Its conning, ere his brazen front it stung. 
Him looming huge, as looms against the 

blue 
Some Alp o'er hills, or towering crag among 
Contending seas, the missile struck and 

slew. 
Tottered the Titan, and his lips and throat. 
That shook the vale with threatcnings, 

kissed the dust. 
Cumbering great space he lay ; his strip- 
ling foe 
Trampled his haughty neck, and smiling 

smote 
The ponderous head and trunk asunder. So 
Jehovah, succoring, crowned his people's 

trust! -Frugoni 



14 



Hannibal on the Alps 

'liyilD the still Alpine snows descending 

ItI grim, 
The Libyan chief his brooding glances 

raised. 
And his dark bosom and each dusky limb 

Exulted. On Italia he gazed, 

'Neath his victorious feet outspreading 

dim. 
Sternly he smiled, and in his black eye 

blazed 
Undying war — the altar fire of him 
Who reared to Heaven his infant's arm, 

and praised 
The babe-lisped hatred nursed from sire 

to son. 
Awhile he paused, and his imperial brain 
Pondered immortal strifes — Ausonia's woe. 
Scourge of Rome's legions — then, with 

flame forerun. 
With smoking scath and slaughter in his 

train — 
Dark Afric's bolt, he smote the peace below. 
— Frugoni 



15 



Pluto and Proserpine 

SHE shrieked, and dropped her daffodils 
to earth ; 
Stru^glin^, she knew — the slim Sicilian 

maid — 
The ru^^ed arm that gripped her in its girth; 
And wan she shrank, dishevelled and dis' 

mayed. 
The infernal god his bristling black lips 

pressed 
Ruthless upon her shuddering lips and face. 
And bosom cold; her cheeks and snowy 

breast 
Grew swarthy 'neath his Stygian rude em- 

brace. 
Strained in his arms, one wild white arm 

she thrust 
Against his hateful mouth; the other screened 
Her dark dilated eyes, as, wreathed in dust. 
Weak o'er his whirling chariot wheel she 

leaned. 
And heard the speeding lash, and to the sky. 
That sank in night, sent one last lingering cry. 

— Cassiani 



16 



Lingua Amoris 

HE never loved, his cold unyearning 
mood 
Belied his lips, and aye his cadence run^ 
False to the amorous vow he lightly 

sung— 
Who but in rhymes his gentle lady wooed, 
jhese — trust me, sweet ! — how oft soe'er 

renewed. 
But feign Love's note and ape his tim- 
orous tongue. 
Artful are they, artless the accents wrung 
From lips that breathe true love. A sigh 

subdued, 
A faltering speech that breaketh ere 'tis 

done, 
A drooping lid that owns the thraldom 

dear, 
A glance that doth a kindling hope confess : 
Such is Love's language ere his wish be 

won. 
So — trust me still — he speaketh, so ye hear 
His heart-beats — and all else is wantonness. 

— Parini 



Jove Dies... 

DANTE, whence comes it that my speech 
and vows 
To thy stern effigy I yield content? — 
That, o'er the verse which made thee lean, 

my brows 
1 bend at dawn, that in the dusk 1 

bent? 
For me Lucia prays not, nor doth the fair 
Matilda wait beside her crystal stream; 
In vain for me, athwart the brightening 

air, 
Thou seck'st, love-led, the white eternal 

beam. 
I hate thy Holy Empire — and the crown 
And haughty brand supreme had struck 

away 
From Frederic's head and hand, on Olon 

plains. 
Empire and Church lie smit in ruin down, 
Above them both still soars thy mighty 

lay: 
Jove dies - the poet's votive hymn remains ! 

— Carducci 



18 



Thou that . . . 

OTHOU that on the flowery Tuscan 
hill 
Sleepest there where thy father lon^ hath 

slept, 
Heard'st thou not through the graveyard 

grasses still, 
E'en now, the plaintive voice of one who 

wept? 
It is my darling child who at thy lone 
Chill dwelling knocks: he who thy name 

beloved 
Still bore, brother : life to him is grown 
Bitter, that unto thee so bitter proved. 
Ah! no: among the flowers he sported 

light. 
Still smiled at by sweet visions manifold. 
And the dark shadows wrapt him sud- 
denly. 
And bore him to the dim eternal night. 
welcome him in those drear regions 

cold. 
For to the sun he turneth wistfully! 

— Carducci 



19 



Virgil 



WHEN, o'er the sun-parched fields, at last 
the tender 
Moon, low-hanging, spreads a grateful chili, 
Murmuring to her snowy light, the rill 
Flows, sparkling back, along its channel 

slender ; 
And the lone nightingale, from forth the 

groves. 
Floods all the vast serene with melody. 
The traveller hearkens, and with brooding 

eye. 
Dreams of the golden tresses that he loves ; 
And the bowed mother, who bemoaned 

in vain, 
Turns from the dark grave to the gleam- 
ing sky, 
And in its mighty calm grows calm again. 
Meanwhile the mountains shine, the far 

sea shines. 
And through the trees the wind sweeps 

rustling by. 
Such, gentle poet, are to me thy lines! 

— Carducci 



20 



Verses 



Neccessity 

METHOUGHT I saw an ca^cr artist 
tracing 
Slight fantasies upon a siliccn screen — 
His subtle hand the dainty damask grac- 
ing 
With clouds and vines and peeping Loves 

between. 
Then, as 1 marvelled at his menial task, 
Methought he sighed and turned his lus- 
trous eyes, 
Glistening, on mine, and said: "If thou 

wouldst ask 
Wherefore 1 waste my skill in wanton dyes, 

look!" and he upheld his slender 

hands : 

"Vainly I si^h my mistress* heart of 

flint 
Naught heeds, nor any pity understands: 
Daily she comes and szis me to my 

stint. 
Her cruel hands — to ail entreaty cold — 
Binding me to my task with links of gold." 



25 



Waiting 



WITH rosy flushing car, and checks that 
wear 
The soft auroral hues that garment her, 
She waits; nor doth one slender s(oId 

beam stir, 
Of all the floating sunshine of her hair, 
One sigh's waft vex the tense and listening 

air, 
One bosom's heave the tender hope aver 
That parts the lips where late her arch 

smiles were. 
Where they will break anon. Hark! on the 

stair. 
She hears, e'en now she hears — thrice- 
tranced thereby — 
The whisper of light feet that come 

anear, 
And nearer; and the spirit of a sigh 
Hovers, the while her hope becomes 

a fear. 
And yet fulfilment lingers — nigh, so nigh, 
Nor may she breathe till all her bliss is 

here! 



26 



Fancy 

SHE sailcth summer waters in a boat 
Of fashion like a leaf of living 
green ; 

She dreameth dreams and secth things 
unseen ; 

And all her idless dear she doth de- 
vote 

To visions o'er the glassy wave afloat, 

Or trembling in its bosom, or, serene. 

Swimming the silent heavens. Naught 
of mean 

Cometh anigh her, but the fluted note 

Of her soft lips witcheth it, stealing 
o'er 

The wave bewitched. Her slumbrous eyes 
of blue, 

WIdc-lidded, see it e'en as though she 
slept, 

And it and she were shadows — ever- 
more 

In those twin mirrors making it anew; 

And from her subtle spell is naught 
except. 



27 



By the Window 

I CANNOT sit amon^ the revellers, 
This weary eve, for I am dull and 

sad — 
1 know not wherefore — and the world is 

clad 
In sober hues for mt. But my pulse stirs, 
Li^htenin^ my heart, as peers above the 

firs 
The slow white moon, and the dim vale 

^rows ^lad; 
And peace falls from the night, as if I had 
A child's share in that mighty calm of hers. 
mother darkness, gently dost thou heal 
Day's throbbing hurts, as earthly mothers 

use 
To soothe their chidden children's, till 

they feel 
No more on those soft breasts each bit- 
ter bruise. 
Day, a harsh father, smites — then thou 

dost steal 
The smart away, and dull it with thy dews. 



28 



Poesy 

CLAD in white soundless garn^ents, she 
appeared, 

Sweet -smiling like a cloudless morn in May. 

No word she spoke, and as I looked 
I feared 

Her fragile loveliness would melt away. 

But yet she lingered, all that golden 
day; 

And on the morn beside my couch she 
stood, 

The new sun on her face, and still did 
stay. 

Soft-brightening, till her mystic maiden- 
hood 

Was grown a thing divine, and her deep 
eyes 

Had made my lonely youth an ecstasy. 

But she is gone — ah! not on earth she 
dwells. 

Brief are her visits as a maiden's sighs 

And gentle glances coy, that suddenly 

Cease — while the vacant heart with yearn- 
ing swells. 



29 



With 
Patient Footsteps 

No flowery path, the path that leads 
to her: 
No way of dalliance with lip and cheek, 

Rosily ripe or nnystically meek 

Stillinf( with bashful art, anew to stir, 
While sighs unsay what the loth lips 

aver. 
Another way is hers; nor will she seek 
Favor, who must be sued; nor lightly 

speak, 
Nor dream of what might be as though 

it were. 
Another will is hers, another thought, 
A larger hope, an impulse more serene 
Of calm virginity unmade for aught 
Less perfect than befits her perfect mien. 
Slowly, with patient footsteps, must be 

sought 
The arduous way that mounts to my 

heart's queen. 



30 



Love or We? 

WE say that Love is blind, and sn^ile 
to sec 
His random-loosened shafts that hit or 

miss; 
It seems a die's cast if lips curl or kiss, 
If minds mismate or kindred hearts a^ree. 
We call Love blindest when too fondly 

he 
Looks forth from lovers* eyes, that change 

with his. 
And show a paradise in common bliss. 
But is it Love that's blind, or is it we? 
Tell me which values best their misted 

stain. 
Your glance, or hers who plucked the 

violets ? 
Which best appraise the viol's solemn strain, 
Your heedless ears, or his who feels the 

frets? 
Whose thought is just — the youth's — or, 

touched in vain. 
The man's, self -centered, when his heart 

forgets ? 



31 



A Valentine 



Go to her, valentine! — "Wherefore?" 
Ah me! 
To hear her feet, the while she archly 

trips 
To take thee, touch her lily finger-tips, 
And in her rosy paln^ a moment be? 
To watch her lau^hin^ eyes and shyly 

see 
The flitting flush her maiden snows 

eclipse, 
Whileas she reads ; to tremble on her lips, 
What time they make a silvery mirth of 

thee! 
Is't not enough? Had I thy chartered 

right. 
Thy immemorial craft, thy cunning art 
To take the morn betimes — small stay 

were mine 
To hasten with the coming of the light. 
And greet her freshened loveliness, and 

part 
Her lips with smiles, and see her glances 

shine I 



32 



Salve, Retina 



OJUNE! and art thou come, imperial 
June — 
Young queen of months, whose ripened 

beauty glows 
Richer than with meek girlhood's mantling 

rose? 
Are these thy deeper eyes — and all so soon 
Is the blonde May gone by. with sandal- 

shoon 
Tripping athwart her drift of blossom- 
snows ? 
Ay, this is thou — the azure upland knows 
The clear, unburning beam, thy glance's 

boon, 
The glistening stream, the grass thy 

showers make sweet. 
And every wood and each sun-sated bough ; 
While every fluting warble of thy praise 
And each song-cadenced rustle of thy feet 
Tells us how blithe thou art, how perfect 

thou — 
Bright almoner of long, unsighing days ! 



33 



In Wall Street on Sunday 

STRANGE is the silence here! A primal 
hush 
Broods on the scene, and the cold sunlight 

falls 
As down some sunken defile's wasted 

walls — 
Where thinning snows have stayed the 

torrent's rush, 
And the ear marks the falling leaf, or 

gush 
Of some far-tinkling rill, and faintly calls 
The o'er-sailing hawk, whilst the void lone- 

ness palls, 
Saddening on crag and fell the mute morn's 

flush.— 
Here swept the city's central stream amain, 
Chafing the stony channel with its surge 
Of strenuous hasting life — and here again 
The seething flood its thunderous wave 

will urge — 
Where now I start, as from yon lonely tower. 
With throbbing stroke slow -clangs the 

solemn hour. 



34 



Michelangelo 

THREE sister arts, smiling, their wreaths 
bestowed. 
Twined in one chapiet meet for him to 

wear 
Whose winged feet their kindred summits 

trode ; 
And gentle Poesy her myrtle rare 
Joined, emulous, for many a golden lay 
And sonnets tuned to his high mistress' ear. 
And when his bleeding country stood at 

bay. 
Trampling her sundered chain, he brought 

her cheer. 
And reared her drooping brand — though 

all in vain — 
Winning, unsought, the iron meed of war. 
Thence nobly scorning praise, his soul 

amain 
Wrought, self - enkindled, like a primal 

star 
Burning aloof with a new world in throe — 
And Art's still heaven knew its Angelo. 



35 



The Present Heaven .. 1 

No more the mariner, sailing down the 
west, 
Sees on the sunny ocean rim arise, 
Far off, the tranquil Islands of the 

Blest; 
No more we stand with upturned trusting 

eyes. 
The day our sweet friends die, and 

dream 
Of Heaven, in the blue stillness far beyond 

our si^ht. 
Hymning the white-robed spirits all for- 
given. 
As rapturous they walk its streets of 

light 
The skies reveal their star-attended suns. 
Swift - circling in the infinite, alone. 
And down the teeming vastncss falls no 

tone 
To tell of what we yearn for evermore. 
Nature is silent, and our dim life runs 
All blindly onward to an unseen shore. 



36 



The Present Heaven .. 1 1 

YET not unhopin^ do wc thither 
move; 
Nay, rather v/ith a deep assurance sweet 
That all this mighty world is born of 

Love, 
Who shapes a secret pathway for our 

feet 
And leads us ever onward to a bliss 
By which the fabled heavens were faint 

and dim. 
Although we naught divine of what it is. 
And still adown the depths floats no glad 

hymn — 
Our heart of hearts divinely evermore 
Singeth, if ne'er we silence it with 

sin, 
Saying: not, "Heaven lies afar," but, "Near 

it lies. 
Wide open are its gates before our 

eyes; 
Wc, if we will, may hourly enter in, 
And walk undoubting on its crystal floor." 



37 



The Statue of the 
Puritan in Springfield 

WITH sober foot unswerving, lip severe, 
And lid that droops to shield the 

inner sight; 
Dark-browed, stern^willed, a shadow in the 

light 
Of alien tinges, and yet no alien here; 
Revered and dreaded,loved,but yet with fear: 
He moves, the somber shade of that old 

night 
Whence grew our morn, the ghost of that 

grim might 
That nursed to strength the nation's youth 

austere. 
Mark the grave thought that lines the 

hollow cheek. 
The hardy hand that guards the sacred book. 
The sinewy limb, and what the thin lips speak 
Of iron will to mould the era — look 
In reverence, and as ye mutely scan 
The heroic figure, see, rough • limned, 

a man! 



38 



Doctor Parkhurst 

a \ MODERN Curtius" — so you say, 

«» and smile : 
"The mythic gulf closed — mythically — 

straight ; 
But I opine the modern Rome must 

'wait 

A process geologic and beguile 

The infernal powers in less simple style. 
No fine heroics serve the sceptic state. 
Yet, if the method's somewhat out of 

date. 
*Tis news, and salts one's morning meal 

awhile." 
So be it, if you will — but I must 

think 
We of the colder mood may better 

spice 
Our wit, as we stand idly on the brink. 
Others o'erleap, of civic shame and vice. 
The old myth were true for men of 

nobler strain: 
'Tis only such as we who make it vain ! 



39 



Alas for Lips... 

ALAS for lips that in a million ears 
Breathe the rude faction's cry ! Alas 

for throats 
That to the hour's harsh uproar tunc their 

notes, 
Unawed, unchastened, when a nation 

hears, 
Touched with sublimer hopes and grander 

fears ! 
Vainly the hero strives, the sage devotes 
His ripening toil, the soaring ensign 

floats— 
Where servile lips awaken servile cheers, 
And chiefs mislead, and leaders swell the 

throng. 
men whose purer virtue makes ye brave 
To lift the unfaltering voice and still 

withstand 
The mindless blast, the blind tumultuous 

wave, 
Ye only serve and ye alone are strong, 
How few soe*er, how powerless in the land. 



40 



To Mr. Cleveland 

HELMSMAN, who, in adverse seas and 
storm, 
Held' st the ^ood ship unswerving to its 

course. 
Stemming the swoiien surge with skill to force 
The warring winds to serve, despite the 

swarm 
Of justling mercenaries, swift to form 
The traitorous league and thwart thy 

prompt resource 
With craft and guile and mutinous clamors 

hoarse — 
Thy manhood hath made hearts long cold 

grow warm, 
And hostile lips at last confess their wrong. 
Meting thee praise for many a dauntless deed 
And many a clarion word breathed bold 

and strong. 
Beside thee, nobly loyal to the need, 
How shrank the caitiff-lipped, time-serving 

throng, 
Unstatured in their selfishness and greed! 



41 



• 

Not So They Speak... 

4^1 BID thee and, because my hand hath 

■ might, 

Lo, thou shalt do my bidding !" Whoso saith 
To his brother this — behold, he breathes 

churl's breath, 
Trampling unshamed the equal human right 
Whether, safe-throned, he bids his legions 

smite. 
Or spurs afield in scornful hardiment. 
Dull souled is he, impious and insolent, 
A king unkingly, an unknightly knight. 
Not so they speak — the heroes of the 

race. 
The godlike few who make their strife 

divine. 
Nor Time's green-laurelled hosts, since time 

began. 
"Purge thou our wills, O Lord ! Do thou 

abase 
The haughty crest ; the humble cause make 

thine!" 
Such speech they breathe, who war for 

God and Man. 



42 



I 



Patria ad Viatores 

Inscription for a Triumphal Arch 

BECAUSE my heart was swollen with 
sudden pride 
in him who loosed my lightnings in the East, 
Smote, shivered, and slew, and with my 

bolts released 
Ten million brave men hastening to my side 
In bonds; because my haughty lips denied 
The common manhood's right, and only 

gave 
Each throbbing heart the boon to beat, 

my slave — 
And he natheless my stinging scourges 

plied ; 
Because his hand was sure, and undeterred 
By fear or pity or shame, and so he smote. 
Saviour, enslaver — even as I decreed: 
Struck off the shackle — and forged it — at 

my word; 
Because he wrote my might in flame, 

I wrote 
His name in stone, and bade the Ages read. 



43 



In England 
Sunday Morning 

BY thy grey towers and in thy cities' 
streets, 
Amid thy cloudy London's sullen roar — 
England, I move no stranger. Long of yore. 
In thine own pulses throbbed the blood 

that beats 
In these young western veins: the heart 

that greets 
Thy ancient walls and wolds is still thine 

own, 
A son's ; in far ancestral memories known, 
Dear is each gleam that o'er thy calm 

face fleets. 
At dusk 1 heard thy nightingale — unheard, 
Yet ofttimes heard, before; and now thy lark 
First soars for me, who long have loved his 

lay. 
My footsteps know thy misty meads — and 

hark! 
Yon silver chimes have for long ages stirred 
The soul, thine own, that thrills in me 

to-day. 

LofC. 



44 



Of this edition, but 205 copies were 
printed, and the types distributed. 
This copy is number j^J 









LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




018 477 538 4 # 



